


Fluff, Ruffle, Puff

by parcequelle



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Female Friendship, Gen, Humor, Missions Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>B'Elanna should have known this mission would be a disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluff, Ruffle, Puff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vice Admiral Kathryn Janeway (Rynegade)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynegade/gifts).



"Captain, this is--"

"I know, B'Elanna." Janeway raises a placating hand, but her expression is one of grimacing sympathy. "I know this is an unacceptable state of affairs, and I feel for you, but we're in this together, all right?" She takes a step closer and presses a warm hand into B'Elanna's shoulder, watches her with clear, steady eyes, and B'Elanna finds herself nodding; something about this woman has her constantly believing that drastic situations are going to turn out okay. The strangest thing is that they usually do. "I'm not going to abandon you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain," B'Elanna says, and she means it. "But what are we going to do?"

Janeway straightens, sets her jaw. "We're going to get through it, the way we always do. We're Starfleet officers." She must catch the look B'Elanna can feel distorting her own face, because she adds, "But more importantly, we're intelligent, experienced women who have found our way out of scrapes far worse than this, and we never give up." She affords B'Elanna a smile, wry with a hint of self-deprecation. "Now how's that for an inspiring speech?"

"One of your best," B'Elanna tells her seriously. That makes Janeway grin, a flash of brightness before she's back to business.

"Now, where were we?"

B'Elanna heaves a great sigh and looks down at the monstrosity of fabric, laughingly referred to by the natives as a 'garment', that she has been forced to don for the occasion. "You were about to do something to this." She gestures at the obnoxiously large bulge of frilled material that circles her waist and then curls around to puff out behind her.

"Ah, yes," Janeway says, too gravely, and is she trying not to laugh? Because-- "I believe the phrase I used was 're-fluff your ruffles'. Hold still."

B'Elanna grits her teeth but allows Janeway to edge a slow circle around her, puffing the frills out as she goes. B'Elanna manages a full twenty seconds before she hisses, "Is this really necessary, Captain? We couldn't have politely informed the officials that in _our_ cultures, this kind of dress-up is considered a little impractical for working engineers?"

"I don't think they're designed to be worn during the actual practice of engineering." Sudden horror descends on her face. "At least I hope not." She gives B'Elanna a once-over, and then nods, apparently satisfied. "Good. You now look about as puffy and ridiculous as you possibly can--"

"--And now it's my turn," B'Elanna says over her, and she smiles the sweetest smile she can muster to make up for it. "Turn around."

Janeway gives her a look so full of suspicion that despite the indignity of it all, B'Elanna catches herself smiling. She performs the same treatment on the captain's equally (if not more) hideous dress, making sure to fluff and puff and ruffle with as much gusto as she can manage, until Janeway catches on and pushes her hand away, laughing.

That's how the attendant to the head of State finds them when she enters the doorless changing room, signalling her entry with the quick set of hand movements customary to the people of the planet Sock. That's really their name, too, B'Elanna has been forced to accept; she supposes she ought to have known from the moment she learnt that that this entire mission would be a disaster.

"My name is Klora, assistant to Prima Frince. She has sent me to inquire as to whether the Captain and Chief Engineer require assistance with the assembly of their garments."

"That's a very kind offer," Janeway tells her with an easy smile, her slide from begrudging into diplomatic as smooth as glass. She glances down at the hulk of metallic green material wrapped around her body, back up at Klora. "We've tried our best to emulate the styles worn by the Prima and her associates, but I fear we lack the experience necessary to determine our own success."

The girl must be several years younger than B'Elanna, though she holds herself with ease and speaks with a measured confidence B'Elanna presumes to be a positive thing.

"Please, come in," Janeway adds, when the girl doesn't move far beyond the threshold, and she does. She begins by restraightening B'Elanna's mostly-improvised work on Janeway's dress, if one can call it that; B'Elanna would liken it more to one of the almost-muffins Naomi Wildman brought down to engineering last week, the somewhat questionable result of a cooking lesson with Neelix entitled, "Delta Dough: An Introduction to Baking in a Faraway Quadrant."

B'Elanna considers voicing the comparison, then spies Janeway's tight expression as Klora pulls a long, lacy ribbon from the bag at her hip and adorns it over the already extensively frilly neckline of the dress, pinning it in place with two glittering brooches, and reconsiders. She keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the brooches, because she knows that if she looks up she'll start laughing, and that will either end in her starting a diplomatic incident ( _again_ ) or in Janeway murdering her with the force of her eyes alone. Neither of those options are particularly appealing, so just this once, she takes the coward's way out. It's a good thing she does, too, because the moment Klora's finished winding the decoration across the captain's shoulders, she turns to B'Elanna with a smile. 

"Your turn, Lieutenant," Janeway says lightly, and B'Elanna can just see it, she can _see_ the way this woman, her captain, is laughing at her whilst simultaneously maintaining an act of pure and entirely unbelievable innocence. She opens her mouth to call her out on it and remembers Klora, too young and too gentle to be forced to bear witness to a murder, and shuts it again, and Janeway _smirks_. She has the nerve to _smirk_ right at her, and B'Elanna swears she'll get her back for it later. She settles for glaring so hard it starts to hurt her eyes, while Janeway, infuriating woman that she is, just leans back against the heavy table near the door and watches with an expression anyone else -- anyone who didn't know her -- would probably call one of mild interest.

She's rewarded for having bitten her tongue the moment Klora steps back, pronouncing B'Elanna a 'glorious, beauteous example of the finest profession known to the galaxy', a statement which earns her a raised eyebrow from Janeway and a surprised, somewhat sceptical thank you from B'Elanna. Klora turns to her, then, serious.

"As Chief Engineer of the grand Starship _Voyager_ ," she begins, "we would like to present you with this adornment for your ears, in the tradition of the women responsible for inventing the engineering profession on our world." Similar to the Klingons, B'Elanna thinks, but doesn't say. Klora draws a pair of earrings from a hidden pocket in her bag. They are made of a dark blue stone, somehow shimmering and deep and bright all at once -- B'Elanna sends a quick blessing upward and counts herself lucky; she thanks Klora, genuine, and allows the girl to slide the metal rings through her ears.

"Beautiful," the captain murmurs, and B'Elanna snaps her eyes up for signs of mockery but finds none; she seems truly impressed. She nods a quick thank you and Janeway smiles.

Klora turns back to her, smiling broadly. "And for you, Kathryn Janeway, Captain of the vessel that has enabled our trade of that most precious metal, known by your people as 'iron', a most honourable ceremonial garment."

The bag is not a large one, more of a pouch that Klora has strapped to her left hip, so B'Elanna has no way of knowing that the thing she removes will be the size that it is. But Klora takes it out and unfolds it, and then unfolds it again, and repeats the process until she's holding something almost half a metre tall and half as wide.

When B'Elanna was a child, when her father was still around, he'd had a friend. The friend's name was Walter, and he was a tall, laughing man, the kind of man B'Elanna liked best because he never seemed to notice or care very much that she had those ridges on her forehead. They would go to visit him every couple of weeks, out at the large rural property where he lived; it was unusually, intentionally remote, the closest transporter station over a kilometre away. Walter been a sort of farmer, her father had told her, and he had had to explain to her what a farmer was, in the beginning, because food was no longer produced in the ways it had been before the Federation was founded. Walter had used his property to grow some plants B'Elanna could no longer remember the names of, but he'd also kept some animals, just because he liked them: chickens and ducks and a few cows -- B'Elanna had always loved the cows -- and bees, thousands of them, in a huge enclosure at the far end of the field behind the house.

Walter's farm, one of Walter's beehives, is what she thinks of now, as she watches Klora fit the bubbled, cone-shaped yellow hat over Janeway's elaborate hairstyle until the brim rests just over the line of her eyebrows.

It is a true test of her patience to keep from laughing. It is an even greater test of her patience to keep from being smug, and from the glare of certain death that Janeway shoots in her direction when Klora's back is turned, B'Elanna rather suspects that she failed.

Klora is delighted, B'Elanna is silent for the renewed fear of landing herself a permanent spot in the brig for the next ten years, and Janeway is saccharine, humble, diplomat to the core. Klora leaves in a rush of excitement to inform the Prima that the honoured guests are ready for their grand entrance (which B'Elanna has been trying not to think about, and is still mostly avoiding), and the captain turns to her, finger raised.

"Not a word, Lieutenant. Do I make myself clear?"

B'Elanna _could_ say something in response to that; a year or two ago, she probably would have. But now, as she watches Janeway, watches the way she holds herself and manages to project confidence and regal grace despite the fact that she looks like a culinary experiment gone wrong, she caves. Starfleet's turning her soft, Seska used to say, and maybe it's true. Maybe it doesn't matter, if she does it around the people who stand beside her. Around her friends.

Instead of snapping back, she smiles, reaches up to straighten the beehive-thing on Janeway's head. "Perfectly."

Janeway is as sharp as ever, of course, and notices B'Elanna's concession; it makes her smile back, gentle, and a moment of camaraderie passes between them. They have just teased their way into an alliance, and B'Elanna likes it.

"Now," Janeway says, shoulders straight, face set. "Let's do this."

*

The alliance, it turns out, is fortuitious. After a grand entrance and a toast in their honour that could have been a lot worse (B'Elanna will never forget the time she was selected as a part of _Voyager_ 's diplomatic delegation to Feznik, where each of the visiting crewmembers were made to perform a two-minute greeting dance with all 417 representatives of the governing party), they are led into a large chamber beyond the hall. It has a very high ceiling and a colourful tiled floor that is filled, to B'Elanna's surprise, with about five inches of clear water. This, Klora had informed them, would be the place where they could take refreshments; she had neglected to mention the water, but B'Elanna doesn't mind - the climate on Sock is warmer and more humid than Terrans are used to, on average, and it's quite pleasant to feel the coolness splash around her ankles where she stands.

She soon finds herself separated from the captain, both of them swept to opposite ends of the shallow pool by excited members of the Sockian delegation. A momentary gap in the crowd allows her a glimpse of Janeway over the other side of the room, engaged in conversation with the Sockian head of security. B'Elanna slides over to the refreshment table and helps herself to another glass of cool, green liquid; she doesn't remember what it's called, but it tastes a little like lemonade without the fizz. She has just taken a sip when Klora appears beside her, a tall, thin woman at her heel. 

"Chief Engineer Torres, may I interrupt you?"

She swallows, sets the near-empty glass down on the table. "Of course."

"I would like to present Zana, the founder and current leader of the Sockian Warp Project. She is most interested to make your acquaintance and discuss the possibility of further connections with you."

Zana approaches her and launches into a series of observations about the materials necessary to increase warp power -- the Sockians first achieved warp drive three years earlier, quite by chance, and have been in the experimental phase of improving it since then. B'Elanna listens with 75% interest. She has lost sight of the captain in the last couple of minutes, and while it doesn't worry her, exactly, she'd prefer to know she's nearby. It's just the two of them here on the surface, after all; the Sockian leaders had requested that two representatives with engineering experience fly down and make contact, and Janeway and B'Elanna had been the obvious choice. She keeps one eye on the room, prepared to make her excuses and seek the captain out if she must, when Zana's words snap her attention, forceably, back to the moment.

"I'm sory," B'Elanna stutters, and she's relieved she no longer has a mouthful of drink, "what did you say?"

"That in the interest of our potential partnership, it would be best if I could discover your feelings on the matter at an early--"

"Hang on a second. What do you mean 'potential partnership'?"

Zana looks at her patiently. "The life union for which we have been recommended to one another. That is the primary purpose of your visit here, is it not?"

B'Elanna's expression must reflect some of the horrified astonishment she's feeling, because Zana has begun to look extremely uncomfortable. "Look, Zana, I don't want to - hurt your feelings, or anything, but I think there's been some kind of mistake. I'm sure you're a very nice woman and a very talented engineer, but the captain and I were asked here under the guise of pure diplomatic and trade relations, and had we been--" she suddenly realises what she's said and stops mid-sentence. The _captain_.

She doesn't even take the time to excuse herself, just pushes past Zana, mindless of who she might be splashing in her haste, and scans the large chamber with renewed sharpness. When nothing immediately catches her eye, she starts to reach for her commbadge, but then -- there. She rushes over, ignoring the fact that Janeway's companion seems to be in the middle of an impassioned speech. "Captain, we have a problem."

Janeway turns to her, relief evident on her face. "Yes, I'm just discovering that myself. It appears we may have been lured here under false pretences."

Other members of the Sockian delegation have paused their conversations and are watching them intently, and B'Elanna says under her breath, "Might I suggest we make a strategic exit?"

"I think that's a very good idea."

The woman Janeway had been talking to steps in front of her, blocking their path, and says firmly, "I wish to continue discussion of our potential partnership."

"There's that phrase again," B'Elanna mutters, and the woman shoots her a dark look.

"I have been assured the opportunity to evaulate you in the role of companion," she continues, "and I will not have that opportunity taken from me."

Janeway's eyes go hard, and she squares her shoulders, leans in even closer. "Listen carefully, Orva. I am flattered by your personal attention and grateful to the Sockians on the whole for their hospitality and generosity. But we were not informed of your people's true intentions in bringing us here, and to people of our culture, a forced union with a person not of one's choosing is an entirely unacceptable matter."

Prima Frince deigns to show herself, then, and has the grace to at least appear apologetic. "Captain, Lieutenant, please forgive our dishonesty in bringing you here - please allow me to explain. We are a society of females who wishes to continually expand our knowledge and numbers, but so few visitors from other worlds across our path in this remote region of space ... over time we have grown desperate, and hoped to lure you into relations with our people through means of the common interest of engineering."

The Prima appears to feel true shame, as she says this, and Janeway seems to soften just a little. "I understand your predicament, Prima, and I feel for you. But I assure you, this is not the way to encourage alien races to trust your people. It might be wise to undertake your mission with a little more honesty, in the future. Maybe you'll be lucky."

Prima Frince nods gravely, has just started to say, "Thank you, Captain, for your generoisty in forgiving our--" when Orva pushes out from behind her and makes a grab for Janeway, who, caught by surprise, isn't fast enough to get a hand up in time (and may not even have managed, what with that beehive still on her head). B'Elanna sees it coming a split second before it does, though, and has folded the woman's arms behind her chest and kneed her to the ground before she can do any damage. She is calling out her virtues into Janeway's horrified face, is still doing so when the Prima's head of security, the one Janeway was talking to earlier, rushes over to escort her away. B'Elanna could swear she hears her mutter, "I believe I advised you _against_ this course of action," as she passes, but she'll never be able to prove it. The woman is so like Tuvok in that moment, stoic and unimpressed, that B'Elanna has to fight the inappropriate urge to smile.

"I should think that that signals our exit, wouldn't you say?" Janeway asks, handing her drink to Klora, who is standing beside the Prima with an expression of such honest regret that B'Elanna almost feels sorry for her. Maybe she had even wanted to warn them.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Janeway says, and manages to even sound sincere. "Until the last ten minutes, it was most pleasant."

*

"And to think that they seemed so nice," B'Elanna sighs, once they're back in the relative safety of the shuttlecraft and she's wrung the last of the water out of her hair. The dresses, a still-voluminous mess of green, are lying in a pile near the emergency transporter pads, and both of them are back in their uniforms. B'Elanna would never have believed she'd be this happy to put on a Starfleet monkey suit in her entire life, but there you have it: life is never what you expect it to be.

"I rather think the problem was that they were _too_ nice, don't you?" Janeway murmurs, "Or wanted to be, anyway," then, "--there." It's been the work of a few minutes, but she's managed to get the surprisingly snug, surprisingly relisilent beehive thing off her head. She sets it on the conn in front of her with a flourish, her expression such a comical mix of admiration and disgust that B'Elanna laughs.

"A momento of our trip, Captain? Or perhaps a costume for the next time the Delaney sisters throw a holodeck masquerade ball?"

The look Janeway gives her could wilt flowers in spring, but she still quirks a smile. "Hilarious, Lieutenant. I should have made you wear it."

B'Elanna snorts. "I'd like to have seen you try."

Janeway smiles, silent for a moment that stretches out, comfortable, as B'Elanna adjusts their course to avoid some spatial debris she's just detected up ahead. It's an easy trip back to where _Voyager_ is orbiting the planet, but she doesn't want any more nasty surprises today.

"B'Elanna?"

"Captain?"

"May I request something of you?"

B'Elanna raises an eyebrow. "As long as it isn't my hand in a 'potential partnership' of engineering minds, I'm all ears."

Janeway laughs and shakes her head. "Not this time." She gestures to the beehive hat, to the experimental-muffin-dresses behind them. "How would you feel about keeping certain... _details_ of this mission to ourselves?"

B'Elanna thinks about it, thinks about the ammunition the knowledge of these garments would give certain unmentionable members of _Voyager_ 's crew, and makes a decision.

Janeway must see it on her face, because she extends a hand, face serious, and says, "Deal?"

B'Elanna nods, shakes the hand, grins. "Deal."

It's a good thing, having the captain on her side.


End file.
